


beginning of the tunnel

by bea_meupscotty



Series: Unfinished [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Time Travel AU, Young Tom Riddle, somewhat dark Ginny Weasley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21869728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bea_meupscotty/pseuds/bea_meupscotty
Summary: They needed time, time, time, more time, they were running out of time,time, she was thinking, desperate, legs screaming as she pushed herself to run even faster, and then she saw, on the corridor to the side of them, a door appear.A time travel AU in which Ron, Ginny and Hermione, in the heat of the battle at Hogwarts, get sent back to Hogwarts with a young Tom Riddle.
Relationships: eventual Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Series: Unfinished [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575550
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	1. wires pulling while you're breathing

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this like three months ago over an extremely depressed like three day long period but I really like it, so I decided to add it here with the caveat that it's unfinished. I've nowhere near plotted it out but really like the vibe and scenario. 
> 
> I'd welcome your feedback/comments/thoughts, especially whether you think I should continue with this one. 
> 
> Title/chapter titles from Wires by The Neighbourhood.

“We have to _hurry_!” Hermione shouted, tugging Ron as he cast one last lingering look at Harry, turning away from them with his small shoulders squared. With a resolute huff, he took off after Hermione, their pounding footsteps nearly drowned out by the sounds of spells and the castle crashing all around them. Somehow though, she could still hear the pounding of her heart. They were running out of time, out of time, out of time. Harry had gone to go into the forest, to try to buy them time, so that she and Ron could find the last Horcruxes and destroy them. Hermione pulled Ron with her behind a pillar just in time to avoid the jet of pulsing purple light that had been coming right for them. Given the warped scorch mark on the wall behind where they’d been standing, she didn’t want to know what that curse would’ve done. She started to peek around the corner of the pillar to fire, but she heard a strangled yell from the Death Eater as a familiar voice first shouted a Bat Bogey Hex, followed by a Stupefy. 

“Ginny!” Ron said, jumping out from behind the pillar with his wand brandished for aid. 

“He’s down, Ron, I’m fine,” the younger redhead said, panting as she cast a cool, assessing gaze over the pair before her eyes grew wide in realization. “Where’s Harry?” 

When Ron just avoided her eyes, Ginny’s stare turned to Hermione, losing any calm it had once had. “Hermione, where’s Harry? He was with you two.”

Hermione took in a deep breath. “Ginny… He went to… to the forest. To meet… him. We have to get to the Horcruxes, _now_.” 

For a moment Ginny trembled, seeming to sway on her feet, before she blinked several times, and seemed to pull some kind of steel from within herself as she looked past Hermione and nodded. “I’m coming with you, then. I’m helping you destroy them… destroy _him_.” 

Ron started to protest about danger, but Hermione just started forward and grabbed each of them. “Then we need to _hurry_ ,” she said, gesturing behind her where the group could hear the sound of yells and footsteps pursuing them. At that, the group took off running, darting through the castle, but when their pursuers came upon the immobile, bat bogey covered form of their compatriot, the chase seemed to escalate. Jets of light were blasting at the three now, red and purple and even green. Hermione’s lungs were burning as she watched Ron’s long legs send him ahead of the group, while Ginny, clever girl, had started zig zagging back and forth across the corridor, sparing barely a moment to fire jinxes over her shoulder before she changed direction, while Hermione tried valiantly to keep up her shield. 

They needed time, time, time, more time, they were running out of time, _time_ , she was thinking, desperate, legs screaming as she pushed herself to run even faster, and then she saw, on the corridor to the side of them, a door appear. Had they—had they made it to the Room of Requirement already? She tried to think through the castle layout, but it had been changing around them as the battle raged on, and frankly she couldn’t find it within herself to care. The castle wanted to protect them, wanted to help them and repel the intruders, so she yelled out for Ginny and Ron, gesturing toward the door, deciding to trust it, trust the castle, trust _Hogwarts_. 

Ginny flung herself to the side, opening the door as Ron turned around to swing back inside, while Hermione put all of her strength into her shields and leaped through the door. She saw just a glimpse of a room full of clocks of all shapes and sizes, cuckoo clocks, grandfather clocks, hourglasses, sundials, before the combined power of their pursuers’ curses hit the not-quite shut door and the ensuing explosion flung her across the room, right into a giant hourglass.

* * *

“Hermione?” 

“ _Ennervate!_ ” 

“Wake up, Hermione!” 

She blinked, hearing Ron’s familiar voice above her, and slowly red hair and freckles swam into view. At first, she thought she was seeing two Rons, two sets of red hair and freckles, and then she realized, as her vision started to clear, that Ginny was there too, hovering over her. 

“Oh thank Merlin,” Ron said, visibly sagging in relief. 

“What happened?” Hermione croaked. Her throat was sore and her voice hoarse, as if it’d been days since she’d spoken or had a drink, but that couldn’t be right, because her body was still _aching_ as if she’d hit that hourglass just moments ago.

“We don’t quite know,” Ginny said, frowning. “We made it into this room, and we’d almost gotten the door shut when they must’ve hit us with some kind of exploding jinx, because we both remember a big crash, flying across the room, but then… we just woke up here, and the door’s still there, and we’re still alive and there’s no Death Eaters.” 

Hermione blinked, pulling herself to a sitting position and wincing as bits of glass from the hourglass dug into her palms. Ginny, noticing, pulled Hermione’s hands over to her to begin to heal them as Hermione surveyed the room. Sure enough, the walls of the room looked intact, as did the door she _knew_ she’d watched get blown up. But the clocks—some of them were broken, clearly destroyed in the blast, but even the ones that looked like they’d escaped the explosion were stopped. 

“I… I don’t know,” Hermione said, voice trembling. It didn’t make any sense. “It has to be something to do with the castle, the castle’s protection and wards.” 

“Well, I know one way to figure out what’s going on,” Ron said, jaw set, as he stepped towards the door and flung it open. Ginny winced, whipping her wand at the open door, just as Hermione gritted her teeth against the pain and cast a shield around them, only to pause. 

Beyond the door was… the castle corridor. Clean, quiet. Neat and orderly. No blast marks, no crumbling stone, no shouts of pain or spells. Beside her, Hermione felt Ginny begin to tremble. 

“Where’s Harry?” she whispered, turning to Hermione with wide eyes. “Have we… if we’ve been here through the whole battle, where’s Harry? And why are we still here?” 

Hermione fought the urge to shiver herself, and instead tried to force her body to stay still and her mind to work, harder, faster, to just _think_. “I… I don’t think… If we’d been here during the battle, there’d be marks on the walls. There were marks there before, from us deflecting the curses. And if the Death Eaters won, they wouldn’t have spent the time cleaning up Hogwarts.” 

“Um, guys?” Ron said, as he took a tentative step into the hall. Hermione took Ginny’s proffered hand and stood up, her muscles quivering with the effort, as they shuffled over to the corridor where Ron was standing, gaping. 

Everything was pristine. Sure, there was the usual amount of dust and cobwebs one could expect to find in the castle, but otherwise it looked exactly like it usually did during the school year. Not a hint of battle. Hermione could even see a few of the customary suits of armor further down the corridor, in their usual positions, not called into battle by McGonagall’s spell. 

“What in the bloody fuck is going on!” Ron suddenly yelled, dropping his wand to turn around and slam a fist into the stone wall behind them. 

“Ron!” Hermione yelled, at precisely the same moment as she heard someone round the corner and turn down their corridor. 

“Language! Five points from…” the person scolded, before they paused, cocking their head. “Who are you three? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at this school before. And where are your robes?” 

Hermione felt like ice had replaced the blood running through her veins as she took in the scene. The girl in front of them was wearing familiar robes, with a red and gold tie, but her hair was pulled back in a severe bun and the glasses she was wearing were outdated. Severely outdated. And she didn’t recognize them. She turned back to the door to the room they’d come from, only to cry out in dismay as the door shut on its own and then dissolved back into stone. 

“No!” Ginny said, rushing over to the stone wall and pounding on it with her fist, as if it would open back up. 

“What on earth is going on? If you’re intruders, I will have no choice but to apprehend you and take you to the Headmaster for punishment.” The girl, clearly a prefect, now that Hermione could focus and see the glinting gold pin on her robes, had pulled her wand out and was looking at them warily. 

“Apprehend us?” Ron was glowering. “I bloody dare you,” he murmured softly, dangerously.

“No, no! We… we, erm,” Hermione paused, mind racing. “We got lost. We need to see Dumbledore.” She desperately hoped Dumbledore was at the school and that she wasn’t entirely off-base in her wild guesses. 

Ron and Ginny shot her alarmed glances, but Hermione just shook her head slightly. 

“Professor Dumbledore? Why would you need to see Professor Dumbledore?” The prefect had finally lowered her wand, but only to fold her arms across her chest and give them a fierce glare.

“P-Professor Dumbledore?” Ron breathed, his voice shaky. 

Hermione felt her hand start to tremble at the confirmation of her fears and shoved it behind her to hide the shaking. “He’s expecting us. You see, we’re his, erm…” 

“Transfer students. We’re transfer students.” Ginny cut in now, stepping forward. From close to her, Hermione could see her pulse pounding in her throat, but, bless Ginny, who was almost as good a schemer as the twins. “He’s supposed to welcome us. We’re doing a special, erm… Transfiguration study.” 

Hermione gave her a barely perceptible nod and Ginny relaxed slightly. 

The prefect tensed, her lips growing thin in a manner Hermione couldn’t help but feel was familiar. “He never mentioned that to me…” she said, and Hermione waited, almost holding her breath. “And you’re dressed very oddly.” 

“We’re… We had trouble on the way in.” Hermione glanced at the dusty, bloody clothes the three of them were wearing and winced, trying to make a face that said it had been a painful experience she didn’t want to talk about. It wasn’t far off the truth.

Luckily, the girl didn’t seem to require anything further before she nodded sharply. “From the continent, then? Fine, I’ll take you to Dumbledore’s office, and we’ll see what he says.” She did, however, give them all an obviously suspicious glare before turning around and striding down the corridor furiously. Clearly she believed that Dumbledore would sort the three of them.

The trio took off after her, rushing to catch up, and clumped together tightly to speak in hushed tones. 

“What do we do now?” 

“I don’t know, but if anyone’ll help us it’s Dumbledore.”

“No, we don’t know what’s going on. We can’t trust anyone.” 

“Anyone? We need help if we’re going to figure out what’s going on and make it back, and Dumbledore can help us.” 

“Shush,” Hermione whispered, seeing the prefect shoot a glare over her shoulder at the whispering group. “Let me…” 

Hermione picked up her pace, coming closer to the prefect. “So erm, what year are you?” 

“Sixth,” the girl replied in a clipped tone. 

Hermione frowned, as if she were thinking. “So that means when you graduate, you’ll be the class of…” 

“1945.” The prefect was giving a Hermione a look that said she thought the girl truly daft now, but Hermione had stopped in her tracks momentarily before she shook herself and could continue walking. She slowed her pace slightly, letting herself fall into formation with Ron and Ginny again. 

“It’s 1944, maybe 43 depending on what time of year it is,” she said, ignoring Ron’s muttered swear and Ginny’s sharp intake of breath. “Dumbledore is… I don’t know. I think we have to tell him that we’re from the future, because we’ll need his help to come up with names, papers, a way back, but… Grindelwald hasn’t been defeated yet. And this is a very different Dumbledore than the one we knew…” She mused, half to herself, as Ginny clenched her jaw. 

“You’re right, and I don’t trust him. Him now or the one we knew. He played Harry, keeping information back, setting up a wild goose chase full of hints and clues for you guys instead of telling you what he knew.”

Ron shook his head. “Yeah, but he had a reason for doing all of it. I still think he’s the best chance we’ve got.” 

The prefect turned them down a corridor leading to the the room the three were familiar with as McGonagall’s office before knocking sharply. 

“Moment of truth,” Ron muttered under his breath. 

The door swung open, and Hermione fought to control her face as the door opened to reveal a man who was familiar and yet not at all—the same tall frame and twinkling blue eyes she was familiar with, but this man was lean and wiry, with auburn hair and a neatly trimmed short beard. 

“Minerva, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Hermione felt Ron jerk beside her and elbowed him sharply as she realized why that displeased expression had seemed so familiar. Minerva… McGonagall. They’d been caught and dressed down by their own professor. 

“These…,” McGonagall said, giving them a look that let them know that she was having trouble coming up with an appropriate word in light of their ragged appearance and strange behavior, “people say they’re transfer students here to do a special Transfiguration study with you.”

“Er, yes, sir,” Hermione said, stepping forward, “We were hoping to speak to you in private. About getting ourselves oriented, and about our project. I, for one, am greatly looking forward to hearing your thoughts on how Morgana’s Fourth Thesis interacts with the second Principal Exception to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration.” 

Ron made a slight choking noise next to her, and Hermione stepped on his foot rather harder than was necessary. Luckily, the young Dumbledore standing in front of her tilted his head, giving her a considering look, as the twinkle in his eye dimmed somewhat and instead grew sharp. 

“Yes, yes, of course, please do come in. I’m so sorry for the difficult journey, and thank you, Minerva, for bringing them to me.” He gave them a broad smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and ushered the nervous teenagers into his office before giving McGonagall a nod and shutting the door in her face. 

“Take a seat, please,” Dumbledore said upon turning around and seeing the three students still standing stiffly. They all remained standing. 

“Morgana’s Fourth Thesis and the second Principal Exception to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration, then?”

Ron began to frown and opened his mouth, quite probably to say that he couldn’t do an independent study on those topics since he hadn’t the foggiest what Dumbledore was talking about, when Hermione stepped forward and nodded. Dumbledore frowned, and then waved his wand at them in a series of complicated maneuvers. When nothing happened, he seemed to relax and tilted his head, looking at Hermione closely.

“So you can help us?” 

“I can try,” Dumbledore said, leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms, his brow furrowing. “When?”

“1998,” Hermione answered sharply.

“That’s… quite some time in the future. And do you know how you came to arrive at this time? Not the usual way, I expect.” 

Hermione frowned. “No, I’ve had experience with a Time Turner before, but this…” She paused, thinking through how best to reveal their experiences without disturbing the timeline too greatly. She had no idea if this would operate like the Time Turner, and was already incorporated into the time stream—the Time Turner was only designed to go back hours, not decades, and she’d rather not take her chances on completely ruining her own time. “In our time, Hogwarts was… under attack. We were fighting, and a room appeared. Like the Room of Requirement, but I’m not sure we were in the right place. It was full of clocks and hourglasses and timepieces, but right when we entered there was an explosion, we don’t know what spells, quite possibly Dark magic, and when we all woke up the wall was still there, the door shut, but the clocks were damaged and we were, well, now.” 

Dumbledore’s lips thinned and his eyes grew slightly glazed as he stared off into the distance. “Very curious, Miss…?”

“Granger,” Hermione supplied. “Hermione Granger. And Ron and Ginny Weasley,” she added, gesturing behind her. Ron waved slightly, while Ginny just continued staring at Dumbledore, her fingers fidgeting against her thigh. 

“And you came to me because…?”

Hermione frowned. Even just telling Dumbledore that they knew him in their time could harm the timeline, if he gained the knowledge that he lived until the 90s. Especially considering he had apparently not yet dueled Grindelwald. “You’re… known to us, in our time,” she said, giving him a somewhat apologetic smile. 

“Ah, yes,” he said with a small smile back at her. “Well, one can never be too cautious with the time stream.” 

“So can you get us back or not,” Ginny interrupted, her voice flat. 

Dumbledore turned his stare on Ginny, any hint of a twinkle fading as he took in the blood smeared across her clothes, her squared shoulders, and the sharp intensity in her brown eyes. Hermione took in a deep breath; she hadn’t really begun to appreciate, really had time to begin to appreciate, caught up in the battle, what Ginny had been going through this year at Hogwarts. This Ginny was a soldier, and she could see Dumbledore assessing and coming to the same conclusion.

“I’m not sure yet,” he said, raising one hand as Ginny started to open her mouth again. “I have many thoughts, several maybe even promising, but I will need to do further research. As your Miss Granger will attest, time travel is a delicate art in the best of circumstances, and these circumstances are not at all clear.” 

Ginny seemed appeased, and nodded solemnly, though Hermione could see her chewing on the inside of her cheek furiously. 

“In the meantime, we will get you settled into the school. You have conveniently arrived at the tail end of the winter holidays, so your transfer student story shouldn’t be too difficult to maintain. Now, if you’d please take a seat, I’ll need to make some arrangements for you all. Lemon drop?”


	2. straight to hell

A little less than an hour and a half and five lemon drops later, Dumbledore had somehow managed to get the three of them uniforms and forged paperwork, including passports and school records, with their input on the appropriate year—sixth for all of them, since it seemed safer for Hermione and Ginny to be in the same dorm room, and since Ron and Hermione hadn’t actually gotten the benefit of the seventh year curriculum—and appropriate marks for their records—which, to Hermione’s dismay, included a small bump down from her own spectacular marks, to avoid standing out, and to Ron’s dismay, included a significant bump in his own, so that their ruse of a special Transfiguration project would hold. 

“How come Ginny doesn’t have to all of a sudden convince professors she’s much smarter than she really is?” Ron frowned, looking down at Ginny’s forged grades sheet.

“Because I’m already a dab hand at Transfiguration,” Ginny said matter of factly. “Though I’m better at Charms and DADA.” 

Dumbledore finished the forgery with a swirl of his wand and then handed them each their papers. “Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Graham, Mister and Miss Ward. It’s a pleasure to have you back in Britain after your long stay in America.”

Hermione nodded, looking over her forged papers intently. They’d agreed that, given that they all clearly spoke English with a British accent, and none of them had a talent for another language hidden up their sleeve, their best chance of a believable story was that they were the children of British expatriates in America who were old family friends of Dumbledore’s, through some family called the Goldsteins who’d managed to help Dumbledore forge the appropriate papers on such short notice, and their parents had arranged a transfer to Hogwarts so that they could obtain NEWTs for a future back in Britain. 

“Now, we’ll go see Headmaster Dippet and get you lot Sorted and then off to your dormitories. I’m sure you’d like to rest.”

“Sorted?” Ron said somewhat indignantly. “We’ve already been Sorted.” 

“And we’ll just be here for a short time, surely,” Ginny said, “so do we have to live with the other students? Can’t we just have a dorm to ourselves?” 

Dumbledore frowned at the redheads. “You must understand that you cannot attract undue attention. Three transfer students, in the middle of sixth year, who aren’t placed in a house and who live apart from the rest of the students, would be precisely the sort of thing that would attract poking around from too-curious noses.” 

Reluctantly, the group assented, and made their way to the Headmaster’s office. Hermione inwardly cringed the entire way there, and the whole time they were standing in Dippet’s office, listening to Dumbledore spin their charming story, apologizing to Dippet for not letting him know in advance, saying that Ilvermorny had held up the approval process. The whole place felt… wrong. It didn’t feel like the Headmaster’s office without Dumbledore’s whirring trinkets, without Fawkes. She hated lying like this, hated watching Dumbledore lie like this—so easily. The lying came to him so easily, and Dippet was eating up every word. 

Finally, Dippet turned and pulled the Sorting Hat out of a cabinet. 

“I’m sure dear Albus has told you all about the four houses, so I think no need for the customary song,” Dippet began, and Hermione swore she saw the Hat twitch into a frown, “but I’m delighted to introduce you to a time-honored Hogwarts tradition—the Sorting. Now,” he beamed at the three of them, “which of you will go first?”

“I will,” Ron said immediately, stepping forward. 

“Brilliant, brilliant, what a _brave_ volunteer,” Dippet said none too subtly. It wasn’t wasted, since the Hat had barely touched Ron’s head before it had yelled out “GRYFFINDOR!”

Ron stood up, grinning ear to ear, while Dippet gave him a hearty clap on the back, and then Hermione sat down and waited for the Hat to be placed on her head. 

“ _Hmmm_ ,” she heard the familiar voice inside of her head. “ _My, how interesting you are._ ”

 _Yes, yes, I’ve heard it all before,_ she thought back. _So hungry for knowledge, I’d make a good Ravenclaw, and yet, looking deeper, that’s not what I really care about, what I really value, I’m a Gryffindor. You’ve told me before. Or, rather, you will tell me. It took almost five minutes last time, so hopefully we can get this over with now._

“ _My, impertinent girl, are you? Yes, I see what I said when you were young, here in your head, but you’re not that girl anymore._ ” 

Hermione froze. What did that mean?

“ _It means, dear girl, that yes, you thirst for knowledge, and you’re ever so clever, and I can see the Gryffindor in you there, but… you’re ambitious. You want to change the world. Bring down the Dark Lord, revolutionize rights for house elves and other magical creatures, be Minister of Magic one day… Yes, quite ambitious now. And cunning… You’ve been very cunning. You’d do well in Slytherin, you know._ ”

_No, no no no, no, I’m not a Slytherin, I only want to do those things in service of my values, to stand up for the weak and protect them, I know myself, I am a Gryffindor!_

“ _Fine, fine, it’s a close thing anyway. Just don’t forget what I said… Slytherin could help you on to greatness…_ ”

_No! I am a Gryffindor!_

“ _Fine, no need to shout it at me again._ GRYFFINDOR!” 

Hermione felt like she could finally breathe again as she ripped the Hat off of her head, eyes wide as she watched Ron and Ginny looking at her curiously, together with Dumbledore and Dippet. 

“My, how interesting, very few students are ever Hatstalls…” Dippet murmured, looking at her closely. 

“Ravenclaw and Gryffindor,” Hermione said with a shrug. “I suppose not surprising, since I came all the way to Hogwarts for knowledge.” 

Dippet laughed at this, and stopped looking at her quite so closely, but Hermione noticed that Dumbledore was still watching her intently.

Ginny was next. Hermione remembered that the Hat had taken a few minutes with her from her original sorting, but nothing close to a Hatstall before it had ultimately decided on Gryffindor, with the rest of the Weasleys. Ginny sat down and pulled the Hat over her head, glancing up at it expectantly. When the seconds continued ticking by, Hermione shifted uncomfortably; Ginny’s mouth had drawn thin and her jaw was clenched, and she could see Ginny’s fingers digging into her thigh as time dragged on. Hermione glanced to her side to see that Ron had a look of growing alarm on his face as Ginny’s frown deepened. 

Finally, after at least five minutes of utter silence, the Hat shouted, in what Hermione could have sworn was a reluctant tone, “GRYFFINDOR!” 

“My, Albus, three Gryffindors!” Dippet exclaimed, seeming eager to break the tense silence that had filled the room while Ginny had sat under the Hat. “Well, I suppose I know why you were so eager to teach them. I’ll have to make sure we have enough room in the sixth year Gryffindor girls’ dormitory.” 

While Dippet turned to speak to one of the portraits behind him, Hermione saw Ron turn to Ginny with a questioning look. 

“Hufflepuff,” she said with a small blush and an apologetic grin that looked about as sincere as Hagrid’s rock cakes looked edible. 

Luckily, they were spared further conversation on the subject by Dippet’s enthusiastic announcement that there would be plenty of room for the lot of them in Gryffindor tower. Hermione smiled and made appropriate noises of happiness and thanks, since Ron was still watching Ginny out of the corner of his eye and Ginny still seemed twitchy after her turn under the Hat. 

“Now, normally, of course, I’d have Miss McGonagall show you to Gryffindor Tower, but it’s almost dinnertime and I’m sure you’re just starving, and Miss McGonagall has her rounds to run, so I’ve asked another of the prefects still at the school over the holidays to take you all down to the Great Hall. That’s where you’ll take all of your meals, you see, and it’s truly lovely, got an enchanted ceiling, quite impressive if I do say so myself. I do apologize that you won’t be able to settle in and unpack your things first, but you’ll be in good hands with—ah, that’s him now,” Dippet was interrupted by the sound of the stone staircase turning behind where the trio was standing, and Hermione turned just in time to notice Ginny go white as a sheet and begin trembling. 

“Do come in, and please meet your new classmates, Tom.” 

Hermione jerked as she looked at the young man standing in front of them, hands clasped in front of him deferentially. “Headmaster,” he said smoothly. As she was cursing herself for not realizing _immediately_ that 1944 meant that Tom Riddle was still a student at Hogwarts, she was caught up in the fact that he looked so… normal. So young. So human. She’d never really seen what Voldemort had looked like when he was young, before his resurrection. She’d known from what Harry and Ginny had told her that he’d been handsome, but… the man in front of her looked like he belonged in an old Hollywood movie, with his wavy dark hair, his high cheekbones, his plump lips. She shook herself as she realized that Dippet had been speaking, introducing them to Voldemort. If he’d given himself that name yet. Riddle. Tom Riddle. She tried it out in her head. 

“… I do hope you don’t mind taking them down to the Great Hall, I’m sure they’re just famished after the long day they’ve had,” Dippet was continuing amiably, ignoring or not noticing the way that Ginny was shaking like a leaf, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Hermione tried to step closer to Ginny and brush against her reassuringly, but Ginny just angled herself out of Hermione’s reach. 

“Of course not, Headmaster. It’d be my pleasure.” He gave them all a broad smile, showing a row of perfectly straight gleaming white teeth. He even got the corners of his eyes to crinkle, as if he would truly be delighted to show them around. Hermione had to hand it to him—this Voldemort was good at putting on a show. A monster in human skin. In their time, he’d shed the last of his humanity, let the world see the monster within. Now, it was just the three of them who did. And, she thought, watching the way that Dumbledore looked intently at the boy standing in front of them, maybe Dumbledore as well. 

When he stepped forward towards the three of them, Ginny visibly flinched. 

“I’ll find it myself,” she said before she elbowed her way around the dark-haired boy in front of her and took off down the stone stairs. 

“I’ll, er, go make sure she’s alright,” Ron said, alarm in his eyes, as he followed. 

Which left Hermione, alone with two very confused wizards, one suspicious future Dark Lord, and an unbearably awkward silence. 

“I’m so sorry, travel is so rough on her,” Hermione said, choking on her words. 

“Of course, of course,” Dippet said, nodding sagely at her. “Such a long journey and a long day must have been rough on her delicate constitution.” 

Hermione forced herself not to snort at the idea of Ginny being considered delicate in any sense of the word, and instead just tried to look vaguely sympathetic. 

Finally, the pale boy in front of her that she kept having to remind herself was the future Voldemort turned towards her. “Would you still like to be escorted to the Great Hall?” 

“Er, um, yes, please,” Hermione said, drawing in a sharp breath and putting her hand into her pocket to cling to her wand reassuringly. “Will either of you be joining us, Professors?” She shot a desperate glance over to the two men standing on the other side of the room. 

“No, dear, but I do appreciate you asking, how polite you are. No, no, Albus and I have some additional matters to discuss,” Dippet said, giving her a warm but clearly dismissive smile. 

With no other choice, Hermione let Tom Riddle lead her down the stone steps out of the Headmaster’s office, her heart hammering in the chest the entire way down, her clammy palms struggling to keep a grip on her wand. Once they’d walked down a few corridors in silence, Hermione gave Riddle her best attempt at a charming smile. 

“You know, I’m sure you have other things you’d much rather be doing than playing tour guide around the castle. I’m sure I could find my way to the Great Hall on my own.” She hoped that her voice sounded relaxed and casual, and didn’t reveal the existential terror that was threatening to rise up in her throat every moment she spent in his company. 

Riddle turned to her and gave her what she was sure was a much better approximation of a disarming smile than her own. “Nonsense, Miss Graham. I’m on my way to get dinner as well. Though between you and Miss Ward, I feel as if I’ve done something wrong.” 

His head was tilted slightly, his tone light and jovial, but the way those dark eyes were focused on her as they continued walking down the corridor… Hermione swallowed heavily and focused on controlling her breathing. 

“I’m so sorry about Ginny… Travel—”

“Yes, you’d mentioned it’s rough on her,” Riddle answered with a small smile that let her know that he didn’t believe her bullshit about rough travel for one second. Not that she supposed he should; Ginny had done an admirable job of not hexing him on sight, but she’d still undeniably stared directly at him as if he were a ghost—which, she supposed to Ginny, he was. 

Considering her options, Hermione gave a small sigh. “I believe… I believe you remind her of someone… unpleasant from Ilvermorny. Please don’t hold it against her, I just think she wasn’t expecting to be struck by the resemblance.” There. Now she’d explained Ginny’s reactions, in a way that insinuated they were painful enough that no one should try to dig in further. And it wasn’t far from the truth, either. 

Riddle gave her a long, considering look, and then nodded. “I’m very sorry that my appearance caused her such distress, then. I hope she soon finds that she can relax around me, and sees that I mean her no harm.” 

_No harm. Fat chance._

She smiled sweetly at him. “Of course.” 

Her wand hand twitched in her robes. They were getting closer to the Great Hall, but they were still a ways from the halls being crowded, and out of Dumbledore and Dippet’s earshot. Hermione considered, screw the timeline, just killing him, but she didn’t think it would be possible to get away with his murder, and it would be difficult to get back to her own time from Azkaban. Not to mention, she realized with a sinking stomach, it wouldn’t work—she looked down to see a wickedly familiar ring gleaming on his finger, big and black and ugly and—yes, she could feel the ugliness of it pulsing off of him when she focused in on it with her magic. How had no one else at the school realized? How could Dumbledore not know? She suddenly felt nauseous. 

She realized she’d been staring at the ring too long when he cleared his throat. “Family heirloom,” he said with another of those disarming smiles, and, really, they might have worked on her if her stomach wasn’t still roiling from the feel of Dark Magic coming from the Horcrux on his hand and her memories of the horrible whispers and anger and despair the Horcruxes had provoked. 

“It’s lovely.” She hoped that she didn’t sound as nauseated as she felt. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

He turned away from her, but she noticed that he still was shooting her little glances out of her the corner of his eye when he thought she was looking at the castle around her. Damn it, damn it all to bloody hell, he was suspicious of them. 

Luckily, they had arrived at the doors to the Great Hall. 

“Thank you for your help, Mister Riddle,” she said with a tight nod before she turned on her heel and shot across the Great Hall for the sight of two bobbing heads of red hair, huddled closely together at the Gryffindor table. 

She didn’t notice the long, appraising stare Riddle gave her retreating back.


	3. tells me to be raw

“I’ll kill him,” Ginny whispered, hands clenching into fists in the crimson bedspread. “I’ll kill him with my bare hands. I’ll break his stupid nose and gouge out his eyes and then I’ll choke the life out of him.” 

“Ginny!” Hermione cried in a hushed voice, reaching for her wand and casting a quick but powerful _muffliato_. Their dorm mates had been asleep when Hermione had snuck into Ginny’s bed to check on the girl after dinner and introductions in the Common Room, and the curtains were drawn, but the last thing Hermione wanted was someone waking up in the middle of the night for the loo and hearing Ginny plotting murder. 

“I know it’s vicious and bloodthirsty and terrible but I don’t care. He almost killed me, and he almost killed Harry, or maybe he’s killing Harry right now in the future and there’s nothing we can do about it, and he killed Sirius and Mad Eye Moody and Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon and Harry’s parents, and he deserves to die.” 

The redhead looked absolutely truthfully murderous in that moment, her normally warm brown eyes cold as they met Hermione’s horrified stare. Finally shaking herself out of it, Hermione reached out and took a hold of Ginny by the shoulders. 

“Ginny. Snap out of it. You are better than this. We are better than this. Better than _him_.” 

Ginny blinked, gaze clearing somewhat, and Hermione continued. “Yes, he is a vile, evil snake pretending to be a man, and yes, I know that the him in that diary tortured you and betrayed you and nearly killed you, but we have to focus on what matters. Getting back to the future, and saving Harry.”

Ginny blinked again, shuddering under Hermione’s touch. When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper, hoarse with strain. “He looks exactly like he showed me in the diary, Hermione. Exactly.”

Hermione ran her hands soothingly down the younger girl’s shoulders. “I know.” When Ginny had relaxed somewhat, Hermione gave her a sharper look. “Which is another reason why we can’t kill him. He has the diary already and the ring—I saw it on him, and felt the Dark Magic coming off of it.”

Ginny shifted back on the bed, her posture relaxing and her gaze turning strategic, not haunted, not murderous. “Well… why can’t we kill him and destroy the Horcruxes? We know what they both are, and roughly where they are, and I’m sure Dumbledore could help us figure out what would destroy them.” 

Hermione frowned, biting her lower lip as she thought about it. “We could. But… Ginny, I have no idea what the rules of the time stream are right now. On the one hand, if time is operating like normal, like it did with the Time Turner, then we’ve always gone back to this time, and the future has already turned out the way it did for us—which means we fail, and we die. Or, worse, we fail and we _cause_ the future. Maybe an assassination attempt pushes him over the edge into his true obsession with power and immortality.”

Ginny was frowning now, but Hermione continued. “On the other hand, if we can affect the time stream, which we may be able to, since I’ve never heard of anyone coming this far back in time, and certainly have no idea what that room with all the clocks was, so all bets are off, then there’s no telling the harm we could do to the future. We’ll have no idea what we go back to; it could be something much worse.”

Ginny snorted. “Much worse? How could it get much worse than our own time, Hermione? Especially if Voldemort is dead.” 

Hermione sighed, leaning back and crossing her legs as she thought. “There’s honestly no telling, Ginny. Voldemort rose to power in the vacuum that existed after Grindelwald’s defeat. And he did it by manipulating and taking advantage of existing tensions and trends in Wizarding society. Those things still exist if he dies, and we have no idea what rises up in his place. He’s already formed his Knights, at school, so they already have his ideas in their heads. Maybe he dies and becomes a martyr. Maybe he dies and they carry out their plan, but without his maniacal quest for immortality that ultimately led to his downfall. Maybe they take over the Ministry from within, enact the Muggleborn Registration Commission, and Harry’s mum never goes to Hogwarts, Harry is never born, I never go to Hogwarts. Maybe someone worse, darker, rises up in his place, someone we’ve never even heard of.” Hermione shook her head, tugging at her curls. “It’s just too risky, Ginny, until we know what we’re dealing with.” 

Hermione watched as Ginny took in several deep breaths, closing her eyes and reassembling herself. “You’re right, Hermione, I know… I just…” She sighed heavily, flopping back against the pillows. “How in Merlin’s name am I going to get through classes with him? I should’ve made you guys put me in fifth year. It’s not as if I’ve learned much this year with the Carrows around anyway, unless you count learning to withstand the Cruciatus.” 

Hermione flinched, watching Ginny out of the corner of her eye. Things had been moving so quickly once they got to Hogwarts, and then, through time, that Hermione hadn’t yet gotten to talk to the younger girl about what had happened during the school year, with Ginny trapped in the castle with Snape and the Carrows. Apparently, it was worse than Hermione had thought. 

“Ginny, I’m sor—” She reached across to touch Ginny’s shoulder, but Ginny shrugged off the touch.

“It’s okay, Hermione. I’m fine. I’ve lived through worse.” 

Hermione flinched again. She knew the younger girl had, which was what made it all the worse. 

“I’m suddenly feeling very tired,” Ginny said with an over exaggerated yawn. 

“Okay,” Hermione said, moving to the edge of the bed before she turned around to look at Ginny. “Ginny… we’ll figure this out. We’ll get back.” 

But the redhead had already tucked herself under the blankets and turned around so that her back was to Hermione. Hermione knew that she wasn’t already sleep, but Ginny didn’t say anything in response, not even when Hermione slipped out of bed and climbed back into her own.

* * *

Their first class was, blessedly, Transfiguration, with Dumbledore. Less blessedly, with the Slytherins. 

Luckily, the classroom was set up for rows of four, which meant that Hermione, Ron and Ginny didn’t have to split up. The three of them took a table and waited, Hermione anxiously hoping that despite his suspicions from before the start of term, Tom Riddle wasn’t dumb enough to sit with them. Her fears were assuaged when Riddle and a group of his Slytherin cronies took a seat at a table a few rows behind them, and another Gryffindor student slid into the open seat in their row next to Ron. 

“Hope this seat isn’t taken?” the newcomer said with a broad grin on his face. He had an open, easy face, tanned and freckled skin, and chestnut hair that, despite his apparent efforts to comb it back, fell forward in charming curls. Hermione wanted to like him instantly, which immediately put her on guard. 

“No, please join us,” she said with a smile, as Ron scooted over to give him more room. “I’m Hermione Graham, just transferred from Ilvermorny.” 

“Oh yes, the exchange students. I’ve heard of you,” the boy said with a smile, tilting his head charmingly. “I’m afraid I got back a little late from the hols, so I haven’t had the chance to meet you yet, but I’ve heard of Hermione Graham and the Wards. Ignatius Prewett, but please, for the love of Merlin, call me Iggy.” 

At the name, both Ron and Ginny seemed to perk up and greeted their new seat mate with broad, excited smiles. Prewett—made him a relative of Ron and Ginny’s mum, if Hermione remembered correctly. One that Ron and Ginny recognized by name. 

“I also heard that you’re working on a special project with Professor Dumbledore, which means, as my tablemates, you’re honor bound to help me with Transfiguration. It’s a miracle I managed to get an E on my NEWT and get into this class, but my dad would’ve killed me if I hadn’t,” Iggy said with another of those open, friendly smiles. 

“Never fear, Un—Iggy, you’re in good hands,” Ginny said with a beaming smile Hermione hadn’t seen in months. 

At that moment, Dumbledore cleared his throat for class to start, and the students turned their attention to the front of the classroom, Hermione included, missing entirely the narrowed eyes of Tom Riddle on their small group.

* * *

“I want to play Quidditch.” 

Hermione was sitting in the Common Room, scratching out an essay for Transfiguration that Dumbledore had assigned and giving Ron tips on his own, when she heard Ginny from across the room. She looked up sharply and noticed that Ginny had approached McGonagall, who was looking at her cautiously. 

“It’s the middle of the season.”

“And I heard that you’re down a Chaser, playing your backup Seeker. Let me try out for the spot.” 

Hermione’s brow furrowed, but she saw Ron nod beside her and lean over. “Alan Davies is Chaser, got hurt skiing over the holidays.” She gave him a grateful smile—they needed every scrap of information they could to make it through this, and while Hermione had always been good at soaking up information from books and lectures and papers, somehow she’d always been allergic to the sound of gossip. 

“Girls don’t generally play Quidditch,” McGonagall continued, though, since Hermione knew for a fact that McGonagall was the captain, and could remember the witch’s passion for the game even as a professor, she knew it was just another test for Ginny.

“They do at Ilvermorny,” Ginny said confidently, before tilting her head and continuing to stare at McGonagall. “And they do at Hogwarts too, or I wouldn’t be asking you for a tryout… Captain.” 

The two girls had caught the attention of most of the Gryffindors in the Common Room, and so all eyes were on them, on how the inimitable Minnie McGonagall would deal with this American interloper. 

“Fine. Saturday, at 10am sharp,” McGonagall finally said before turning back to her Ancient Runes translations. 

“I’ll be there,” Ginny said, nodding to McGonagall before sinking into a recliner in a corner of the room with her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook in her lap. 

“Is this… smart, you think?” Hermione frowned, turning to Ron. He was staring at his baby sister, brow furrowed. 

“I…” He sighed heavily, looking down at his essay as he ran a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell. I don’t know, but… I think Ginny needs some kind of outlet, or she’s going to hex us all one day. It’s only been a week but she’s practically climbing the castle walls.” 

Hermione nodded. “I mean, I get why she’s impatient but…” 

Ron shook his head. “I don’t. We have all the time in the world.” 

Hermione paused, jaw dropping open. “What?”

Ron glanced around the common room. “I’m just saying… I know that I’m not… the most helpful to you guys. I’m not half as strong as Harry or half as clever as you. If…” He cleared his throat. “If I’d known what it would come to, ‘Mione, I’d have taken your lectures about classes a little more seriously when I was 14. So if the future’s still fifty years away, I guess I’m just saying I don’t mind having a little extra time to practice before we have to go back out there.” 

Hermione tilted her head, breaking into a smile at Ron’s words. “Ron, you’re a _genius_. This is a blessing in disguise. We can figure out everything we need to know, _everything_.” 

“Yeah, well,” he said, a flush rising on his cheeks. “ ’S just common sense.” 

The smile she was giving him was warm and fond, and something was stirring in her chest as he lowered his head, but then she looked down at his essay and groaned. “You meant the _third_ principal exception, not the fourth. The fourth disproves your point.”


	4. knew the game and played it

Saturday morning dawned cold and clear. Hermione had barely set foot on the Quidditch pitch before she regretted it, feeling the cold wind whistle around her, like it was blowing straight through her, despite the layers and layers of clothes she’d bundled herself into, and the scarf she’d borrowed from Archibald Bones wrapped around her throat. But she needed to support Ginny, she told herself stubbornly as she slid into the Quidditch stands next to Ron, Iggy, and a boy she vaguely recognized as Alan Davies, who was a Gryffindor a year above them and the injured Chaser Ginny was trying to replace. 

“Hermione Graham, right?” Davies said, leaning forward with an outstretched hand, which Hermione shook politely. “And Ron Ward? This bird’s brother?” 

Ron bristled slightly at the use of the antiquated term for his sister, but Hermione was relieved to see he just gave Davies a tight smile. “The one and only.” 

Luckily, Davies’ sexism seemed to just be of the casual sort. “Alan Davies, pleasure to meet you. It’s a shame the Healers say flying could destabilize the newly grown tendon, but I must admit I’m curious to see your sister fly. Minnie’s the only girl who plays Quidditch at Hogwarts, though I guess Ilvermorny must be a bit more progressive.” 

Ron gave a small smile. “Ginny’s loved Quidditch since she was little. Used to steal my broom and practice flying when we were young. She’s used to getting her way.” 

Davies gave another laugh. “Sounds like a true Gryffindor, then.” 

Hermione warmed to the boy slightly. She looked around and noticed that the stands seemed abnormally full. 

“Are there always this many people around for Quidditch tryouts?” she said, feeling hesitation grow in the pit of her stomach as she saw a group of students with conspicuously green and silver scarves settling at the other end of the stands. 

“Not usually this many, no, but, then again, everyone’s curious about you three, and now there’s a tryout in the middle of the year, and it’s a girl too.”

Hermione cursed inwardly—they shouldn’t be drawing this much attention. But looking up at Ginny, who was making complex shapes with her flight patterns as she warmed up, she could see a settledness to the set of the redhead’s shoulders, a clarity on her face, that Hermione hadn’t seen since… well, since before Dumbledore’s death. Hermione shut her eyes and exhaled heavily. They’d deal with it. Ginny needed this. And drawing some attention for Quidditch was worse than getting everyone’s attention because Ginny had hexed someone. Tom Riddle, most likely.

Speaking of the devil, Hermione took advantage of the fact that Ron had drawn Alan Davies into deep conversation about the Cannons (for once, his encyclopedic historic knowledge of the team had proved useful) to squint at the group of Slytherins settled on the other side of the pitch, only to breathe a sigh of relief that Riddle wasn’t among them. It seemed the future Dark Lord wasn’t a big Quidditch fan, she thought with a suppressed hysterical giggle. Instead, the small group seemed to be led by a tall boy with broad shoulders and gleaming blonde hair, who held his head tilted just slightly upward and had an condescendingly amused look on his face. 

“Abraxas Malfoy.” Hermione jumped, realizing that Iggy had seen her staring and leaned over to correct her. “Slytherin Keeper and Quidditch Captain. Obviously here to scope out the competition.” 

She nodded tightly, looking for a resemblance to the Malfoy she knew in her time. He looked more like Lucius Malfoy (the boy in front of her’s son, she had to remind herself) than Draco—he was broader than Draco Malfoy, obviously muscled, with a stronger jaw and brow line than she was used to seeing on Draco’s features, though the blonde hair was unmistakeable. And that aura of dismissive superiority—that was familiar. She scowled in his direction, and felt Ron bristling beside her. 

Iggy chuckled. “Nah, not particularly pleasant, that one. Don’t worry though, he wouldn’t do anything to Ginny while she’s trying out. Not with Minnie around, anyway.” 

Hermione couldn’t fight the delighted chuckle at the realization that Abraxas Malfoy was apparently at least somewhat cowed by Minerva McGonagall. 

Soon enough, said future Transfiguration professor was blowing her whistle, and tryouts were beginning. Hermione appreciated that McGonagall ran a Quidditch tryout the way she ran her classes, with ruthless precision and efficiency. First, Ginny did some passing drills with McGonagall and the other Chaser. After McGonagall was satisfied, there came a timed portion—how many goals could Ginny score against the Gryffindor Keeper in five minutes, while still avoiding a Bludger one of the Beaters was sending her way. The answer, apparently, was quite a lot. Even Hermione could see that the Gryffindor Keeper was good, above average even, but Ginny was excellent on a normal day, and for some reason this morning she was flying like a demon. There were murmurs from the crowd as Ginny practically flew circles around the Keeper, bobbing and feinting and watching the boy get more and more frustrated.

Three minutes in, the Beater sent the Bludger directly at Ginny’s back, where she was rocketing for the right-hand hoop. Without even looking behind her, Ginny dropped suddenly, veering to the left and scooping the Quaffle through the center hoop; unfortunately, the Keeper had been focused on Ginny, not the Bludger, and took a hit right to the gut. 

Frowning, McGonagall blew her whistle and sent the Keeper, still gasping for breath, to the Hospital Wing. 

“Alright, show’s over. We’ll reconvene tomorrow to finish the tryout once MacDougal is cleared.” Grumbling, the onlookers stood and started to disperse, and Hermione had turned around to gather her things when a voice called out from the other end of the pitch.

“I’ll play Keeper, Minnie.”

* * *

Ginny’s head whipped around to see a Slytherin boy with striking blonde hair, tall and broad shouldered with long limbs that let her know he wouldn’t be a joke as a Keeper, smirking up at McGonagall. 

“That’s not necessary, Malfoy,” McGonagall said, her lips pressed thin with irritation, and at the name Malfoy Ginny had to fight back the urge to physically snarl at the boy. She’d had anger thrumming through her veins, anger and adrenaline, for _months_ , and while flying was helping, she felt certain that seeing a Bludger crash into this Malfoy’s smug face would do wonders for her mood. 

“Why, afraid to watch your newest recruit up against a _real_ Keeper?” Malfoy was drawling from beneath her, and gave her an amused smirk that she supposed was intended to intimidate her. She just shot him a wicked grin that, based on the surprise that flashed across his eyes, was exactly as predatory as she’d hoped. 

McGonagall shifted, and Ginny had to admit she felt for her (former? future?) professor—stuck between trying to maintain control of her team and her tryout, not wanting to cave to Malfoy in front of the gathered audience, and not wanting to look like she was afraid of him, like she couldn’t hold her own. When McGonagall shot her a look, Ginny just nodded, for once deferential. She didn’t know these dynamics, this team. After a long hesitation, McGonagall nodded. 

“Fine, Malfoy. Suit up.” 

Malfoy sauntered over to the locker rooms with a grin on his face, pretending not to hear the murmurs in his wake. Ginny let herself drift over to McGonagall and gave her a small nod. 

“You handled that well.”

McGonagall just grimaced. “He put me in a difficult spot. He’s an arse.” At the sound of the staid Minerva McGonagall, of all people, calling someone an arse, with just a hint of a brogue, Ginny couldn’t help but laugh. McGonagall seemed surprised to hear the sound coming out of Ginny’s mouth, but gave her a tentative smile. “Think you can take him? He’s good. Better than MacDougal, though I hate to admit it. Your new tryout is to not embarrass Gryffindor in front of half the school.” 

Ginny gave McGonagall a mischievous smile that she hadn’t felt on her own face in ages. “He won’t know what hit him.” 

Malfoy had made his way back out onto the pitch, dressed in Slytherin green Quidditch leathers, grinning smugly as his coterie of hangers-on cheered from the stands. Ginny could see McGonagall’s jaw clenching, but all Ginny did was grin. 

“Let them cheer now,” she said with a smirk, and McGonagall raised an eyebrow before blowing her whistle.

“Penalty shots! Take five, Ward.” 

Ginny hefted the Quaffle back and forth before heading across the pitch towards the goalposts, where Malfoy was circling, a smug grin on his face. 

“You didn’t look half-bad earlier, Ward. For a girl, at least,” the blonde boy said with a disdainful smile. 

Ginny gritted her teeth against the taunt—she had been called worse, over and over and over, two weeks ago she was being tortured for Merlin’s sake, this boy was nothing but a pathetic bully—and shot him a sweet smile. 

“Well, guess now I’ll get to see if you’re half-bad for a girl.” 

She relished in the shock on his face before she streaked forward and, feinting left, sent the Quaffle rocketing toward the center hoop. Much to her dismay, Malfoy saw through her feint and caught the Quaffle. She took pleasure in the fact that, despite the cheers from the Slytherin section of the stands, Malfoy had narrowed his eyes at her and was looking at her cautiously. She’d thrown the Quaffle much harder than he’d anticipated, and she could tell from his slight cough that he’d had to catch it with his body—which had hurt. She liked that it had hurt. 

“Two,” she heard McGonagall say from the other side of the field, and gritted her teeth. 

This time, she approached from the center, feinted right, but at the last moment switched the Quaffle to her left hand and watched with satisfaction as it sailed over Malfoy’s shoulder and into the center hoop. 

“Lucky shot,” Malfoy called after her, though she could hear the anger and tension in his voice. 

She made her next shot as well, and the one after, even though he got a hand on it, he dropped, letting her soar under him and scoop the Quaffle through the far hoop. 

“That wouldn’t count for a penalty shot, but good play Ward,” McGonagall called from her position at the center of the pitch. Malfoy was practically growling now, clearly frustrated. Ginny could see why—she’d grown up watching Oliver Wood play, had known the boy had gone on to be recruited to play professionally, and this Malfoy made Wood look like an amateur. McGonagall, at least, looked pleased, and she knew that her efforts were good enough that she’d avoided embarrassing Gryffindor and probably made the team. But good enough had never been enough for Ginny, and today she wanted to crush Malfoy. 

So as she lined up for her last shot, she lined up dead center. Malfoy hovered loosely in front of the center hoop, but she could see his broom twitching to her left—she’d gone right the two times before. This time, though, Ginny just shot straight forward as fast as she could urge her broom, pressing low to the handle, Quaffle clutched tightly in her right hand. She saw Malfoy’s eyes widen as she didn’t stray off course, widen further as she didn’t pull up, as he squared his body in front of the center goal, and then, right when she saw him flinch, barely three feet away from him, she jerked her broom sharply to the right and spiked the Quaffle through the hoop, to roars of jubilation from the assembled Gryffindors.

“Spectacular!’ she heard McGonagall whooping from behind her, before she cleared her throat. “Not that I encourage reckless play on my team as a rule, Ward.”

She turned triumphantly to Malfoy, expecting to see a disappointed pout or a glare, but instead she just found him grinning at her. “I do encourage reckless play, Ward, if you’re ever up for another round.” 

“Ew,” Ginny said, mouth wrinkling in disgust, but Malfoy just laughed and headed for the locker rooms, and Ginny turned her attention to McGonagall, who was already welcoming Ginny to the team and discussing potential plays.


End file.
